I've Seen Your Face Before
by SweetTheatreGeek
Summary: Five years after the Revolution and the Battle of the Barricade, two survivors, who were thought to have been dead, are unexpectedly reunited.  Eponine/Enjolras   Rated T... just in case
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

She stared at her reflection, trying to prepare herself for the day ahead. The full lipped, chestnut haired young woman inspected the dark circles under her eyes. It had been five years to the day since the terrible night that still haunted her nightmares. The gunshots, the blood, so much blood, losing her friends, and, perhaps most tragically, having to lose herself.

Eponine Thenardier had died five years ago. She had had to, but her memories still remained in the back of the mind of Elizabeth Jane Smith, or Ella, as she preferred to be called. Lately, the memories had been coming more and more frequently, invading her sleep, and it was showing. Ella worked as a shopgirl in the bakery in her town just outside of London. It was a far cry from her life in Paris as a street urchin, keeping a lookout for her father, Monsieur Thenardier, as he robbed the wealthy.

She lived in a modest one bedroom apartment above the bakery at which she worked, which the owner, Mr. John Winters allowed her to rent, as he and his wife had recently acquired a second bakery across town, and was spending a majority of his time at the second bakery.

It was a quarter to five. Ella put on a modest white blouse, and a black skirt. She couldn't afford anything extravagant like many of the more wealthy women that came into the shop, but she was content. She may have left behind the only life she had known when she left Paris in 1832, but she had found a better life in London.

The young man stepped off the train, his dark blonde hair ruffled from the steam being let off behind him. He had spent a considerable amount of time running, trying to escape; from Paris to Versailles, and now to London. Yet he could not escape the memories that had come to haunt him every night for the last five years. Memories of friends dying, of battles lost, and of taking the coward's way out.

Sebastien Enjolras was only 21 when he thought he could lead a revolution. Instead, he found himself feigning death, and running to escape shame and persecution. Versailles was not far enough from the screams from the Barricade, perhaps London would be.

Now, 26-year-old Enjolras had nowhere to go, and no one who knew him in London. Perhaps it would be the perfect hiding place. There were too many familiar faces when he had tried to hide before. A new country, a new beginning, a new life.


	2. Drink With Me, To Days Gone By

**Chapter One – Drink With Me To Days Gone By**

Enjolras paid the carriage driver, using the little money he had left; spending the last five years running from his past had had a severe impact on the wealth he had once enjoyed. Before, he was the son of wealthy parents. He was an idealist, a revolutionary, and, most of all, he was happy. Now, he had little money, few dreams, and saw nothing that made him happy. The guilt from that night at the Barricade had become all-consuming, allowing him to feel nothing outside of despair. Every night, as he struggled to fall asleep, he pictured their faces; Grantaire, Joly, Jean Provaire, Combeferre, Eponine… Eponine. She had been the first to die. The first casualty in his dream for a New France. She had been seventeen. She had her entire life before her, and it was because of him that she had died.

Enjolras had arrived in a town just outside of London. It looked a lot like Montfermiel, and he had to remind himself that he was no longer at home. He would not be able to drink with his friends whilst they discussed their ideas for the Revolution. He would not be attending university with Marius. After he had been rescued from the Barricade, Marius had married Cosette and now had two children; a boy named Enjolras and a girl named 'Ponine, named for his two friends that he had lost at the Barricade. Enjolras had laughed when he had heard that Marius named his son after him. If only he had known that his friend did not die in battle.

He realised that his life would reach a new level of difficulty now that he had left France. In France, he could keep in touch with his parents, the only people who knew the truth about their son, and they had helped him. Being in England, he had severed ties with them, he could no longer rely on the comfort it had brought him, knowing that he could write to his father when he was in financial trouble, or to his mother when he just needed words of comfort. He was alone now. He hoped that that would be enough ease the pain.

It was time for Sebastien Enjolras to become the man he should have been long ago. He would begin on the bottom rung of this new society, and he would gain the respect of those around him. He vowed, though, that there were to be no more sacrifices in his name. It was not in him to be in a position of power. Behind him was a tavern a lot like the one he and his friends had spent so many hours in, with a 'Help Wanted' sign in the window. Enjolras took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Excuse me, Madame, I'm here to inquire about the position you have advertised in the window."

The stout barmaid turned to look at him, her bright green eyes piercing his blue ones. Enjolras felt embarrassment when he noticed that she was considerably younger than he had thought when he had viewed her from the back.

"You're not from around here," she retorted, "people around here don't talk like that. Where're you from? Paris?"

"I was born in Paris, yes," Enjolras replied quickly, "I have been living in Versailles for the past five years, and thought it may be time to try my luck living in London."

"You look like a man of learning," the barmaid observed, "I bet you went to university."

Enjolras became increasingly uncomfortable at this. He had tried to block out his time at university. That's where the ideas of a Revolution started. That had been the beginning of the end.

"Yes, I attended university. I was a student of Law."

"Well then, why do you wanna work in a rundown old place like this? You could go work for someone more important." The barmaid was quite obviously confused with Enjolras' decision to choose bar work over something that would pay considerably more.

"I think, for me, it would be best to begin a new career path, living in a new country".

"Well then, I need a boy to run errands for me. You're a bit older than we'd normally take, but you look like you can do a lot of heavy lifting, so I don't have to get anyone else in. I'll give you a go. I'm Miss Turner. My father owns this tavern, so you'll be answering to me first, but to him if you cause any trouble, got it?"

A smile of gratitude crept across Enjolras' face, but didn't quite reach his eyes. He hadn't smiled properly in the last five years. Maybe he had a chance for a new start now.

"Yes, I understand, and please accept my deepest gratitude," he said as he shook her hand, "I apologise for being a nuisance, however, I am also new in town and have nowhere in which to live. Could you possibly recommend somewhere that I could stay?" Enjolras attempted to be as neutral as possible. He did not expect any response from Miss Turner.

"Well, there's always a spare room upstairs. We keep three to rent out for short stays, and then there's the spare where my family used to live when I was growing up. It's been empty for years. Tell you what, you accept 3 shillings a week less in your pay, you can have the room".

"Thank you, thank you, when do you need me to begin working? I am anxious to repay you for your gracious offer".

"You can go to the baker, Mr. Winters. He's got two shops in town; the closest is just at the end of this street. He should be there now. Tell him that we need three loaves of bread for the guests tomorrow morning".

As Enjolras was leaving, Miss Turner called out to him.

"Oi, pretty boy, you never did tell me your name."

"Enjolras," he replied, "Sebastien Enjolras."

"Blimey, you weren't kidding when you said you were French. You'd have to be with a name like that. Oh, and keep an eye out for the shop girl at Mr Winters', Ella, she's a pretty little thing."

Enjolras set off for the bakery, taking in the surrounds of the town he was now to call home. Maybe now he could forget.

Eponine was looking forward to being able to close the shop. 'Not long now,' she thought as she saw the sun falling lower and lower in the sky. It had been an awfully long day in the bakery. She had had to scare off three pickpockets, and a young boy, who looked an awful lot like her poor brother Gavroche, who had been killed at the Barricades, who had tried to steal a loaf of bread. Mr. Winters would not have been too happy had the young boy succeeded.

Finally though, she had a moment to herself. She began to remember Gavroche. That beautiful, lively brother of hers, with his wide eyes; always curious and exploring the world. He had never attended school, yet he knew more than most people she knew. She didn't notice the young man with the dark blonde hair, and familiar, striking blue eyes, enter the shop. He cleared his throat and she was startled out of her daydreaming.

"Monsieur Enjolras?" she said, not thinking.

"Yes," he replied, "how did you know my name?"

Eponine had not missed her slip up. She quickly tried to mask her true identity. No one was supposed to know her here, especially not someone who thought her to be dead.

"I heard about you from some of the people nearby. It's a small town; news travels fast. My name is Elizabeth Jane Smith." She was impressed at her own ability to lie that quickly. She supposed it was a talent she had inherited from her parents. They were so very good at lying about whom they were.

"Oh," Enjolras looked surprised. His eyes were searching the girls face. He could not place her, but could not remember where he had seen her before. She looked so familiar, and yet, not.

"Miss. Turner sent me," he continued, "she said to see Mr. Winters about getting three loaves of bread for the guests in the tavern tonight."

"You're working in the tavern?" Eponine was shocked. She knew that Enjolras and Marius had studied law together at the university. Marius, her Marius, who had married Cosette. Eponine had only had a small kiss on her brow as she 'died' as a sign of Marius' affection. Cosette has an entire lifetime. In her thoughts of Marius, she had not noticed that Enjolras had been speaking.

"…Really, I don't feel comfortable discussing my motives with a complete stranger. I just need those loaves of bread, and I will be on my way."

"Of course, Monsieur," Eponine replied. Enjolras noticed again her use of 'Monsieur' as opposed to 'Mister'.

"You are from France also?" he asked her. It was a comfort to him to know he was not the only one.

"Yes Monsieur. I grew up in a small town outside of Paris. Nowhere special. I have a much better life here."

"But don't you miss your family, or your friends?"

"I don't have a family, and my friends did not survive very long."

Enjolras' eyes darkened.

"Neither did mine," he replied, "They died, in vain, at the Barricades."

"I remember the Revolution, Monsieur. Here is your bread."

Enjolras went to leave, but turned just before he reached the door.

"Mademoiselle Elizabeth? Did I know you, back in France? Is that how you knew my name?"

"No Monsieur, as I said before, people talk in this town. That's how I knew your name. Have a nice night."

"Yes, you too Mademoiselle."

Enjolras was still unable to place the girls face as he walked back to the tavern. He wracked his brain, trying so hard to remember the times that he had tried so hard to forget. She wasn't any of the girls he had met whilst at university. He'd had 'pretty girls go to his head, and witty girls go to his bed', as Grantaire used to, so eloquently put it, but he couldn't match this girls face with any of theirs. He was about to enter the tavern when he stopped suddenly. It had finally hit him.

"'Ponine!" he said, louder than he had expected.

He left the loaves of bread outside the tavern and ran back towards the bakery. How did it take him so long to realise? Poor 'Ponine! The first to die at the Barricade, their first loss of innocent life in the Revolution. She was healthier now, most definitely, and much prettier than the street urchin he had once known, but she was supposed to have died. Perhaps that's what she meant by her friends not surviving very long. She had loved Marius for so long, and Marius had never noticed, even when Enjolras and the rest of their friends had joked about it with him. She had given her life for Marius, or so they thought. Just as they had thought that Enjolras had died for their cause.

He reached the bakery, gasping for breath and went to walk inside. The door was locked.

"'Ponine?" he called. Deep down, he thought he might have just wanted some sort of confirmation that he was not alone with this secret. That maybe he didn't have to deal with his anger and guilt and grief alone anymore.

"'PONINE?" he called again, louder this time, and still no answer.

'Just a ghost,' he thought, 'I've carried this guilt at her death for so long, and now her ghost has come to haunt me. She must have just been a ghost.'

He fell to the ground, unsure whether from exhaustion, or all consuming grief, and lay there. He didn't know if it had been seconds or minutes or hours when he managed to find his feet again, but this time he was sure he was mad. He had to be. The journey was too long, and the town looked too much like Montfermiel. Eponine had died five years ago. She had died, and it was his fault.


	3. The City Goes to Bed, and I Can Live Ins

**Chapter Two –The City Goes to Bed, and I Can Live Inside My Head**

Enjolras watched in horror as the young girl lay in his friends' arms, dark red blood billowing, staining her white shirt in unrecognisable patterns. She looked over at him, her dark brown eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second, before returning to his friend. Then, she stopped. She was gone.

"EPONINE!" Enjolras cried, waking with a start, cold sweat dripping down his flushed face.

Eponine had been appearing in his dreams since the apparition of her ghost at the bakery. The guilt at her death was beginning to affect Enjolras' day-to-day life. He would begin work at 5am, and, after working the entire day, and most of the night, return upstairs to his room, and attempt to sleep. Sleeping was becoming more and more of a futile effort now. Nightmares were more frequent, and insomnia was setting in.

Enjolras was convinced he was losing his mind. One afternoon, a group of young men came into the tavern, followed by a girl who was a few years younger than they were. He watched as they talked and laughed and drank together. He could not help but see his friends there, and the girl. The girl who had always been with them. Eponine. She was everywhere.

He had even taken to bribing the young boys, that would often be pick-pocketing, into running errands that required going to the bakery. He was not going to risk another sighting of Eponine's ghost. He had thought that the guilt at the deaths of his friends had been all consuming. It was nothing compared to the guilt at the death of the innocent.

No one in London knew him well enough to suspect how he felt. They must have thought that he was a naturally quiet and melancholy man. They had never known the Enjolras before the barricades. The Enjolras who was full of passion, and rebellion, and love, and life. Now he was just an empty shell of who he once was.

Night fell again, and he prayed that tonight, he might escape the nightmares.

Eponine sat in her room above the bakery. She had heard Enjolras' cry. She knew that he had recognised her. She could never tell him that it really was her. She had sacrificed so much in leaving Paris, and gained so much in this new life in London. She could not give it up to find comfort with another person who knew exactly how she felt. Another who was supposed to have died at the Barricades, but was miraculously still alive.

She noticed that after that first day, Enjolras had not returned to the bakery on errands for Miss Turner. It had only been young boys coming again, including the one that looked an awful lot like Gavroche. He had said that his name was Timmy. He didn't know his parents, but that the nice man from the tavern was giving him money to come and get bread for him. Eponine had spent enough time around Enjolras in Paris to know of his superstitions. He would have believed her to be a ghost, and would be afraid of a reappearance of the apparition.

Eponine had hoped that maybe Enjolras had forgotten his old superstitions, and that he would come back to see her, even if he had believed her to be someone else. Her life may have been better in London, but it was also much lonelier. In Paris, her life was cold and dark, but she had had her friends, even though she realised that most of them did not consider her a friend. They had kept her strong. They had kept her happy, and most of all; they had kept her from being lonely when her parents no longer wanted her around. And now, she had no one. She was lonely. And no one knew. No one paid close enough attention to know. And the one person who might just notice was off limits. She did not know whether or not he still had contact with people in Paris. She could not allow her parents to find out where she was, it would only complicate things. It seemed that loneliness had to be her new way of life.

Enjolras awoke with a start for the third time this week. The girl, dying in his friend's arms, bleeding profusely. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Eponine could not sleep. She could not help but think about Enjolras. Wondering why he had run, why he had pretended to die, just so he could escape. She remembered his passion, how he could empower a room full of apathetic university students with just a few words. She remembered the admiration the others had had for him, how he made them believe in something bigger than what they knew. She remembered the despair that she had heard at the death of Enjolras, and the pride of his friends, knowing that he had died for something he had believed in more than anything. She remembered his body being placed next to hers, as she had played dead. If only she had known that he was doing the same as she was.

Eponine made the decision then and there. She could not see Enjolras again. And if she had to, she would not allow herself to slip up like she did last time. She was Elizabeth Jane Smith now. Eponine Thenardier was dead, and she had to stay that way. She would not jeopardise her new life again, even if it meant she had to stay lonely.

Enjolras still could not sleep. He kept seeing Eponine's face, and, consequently, the face of the girl from the bakery, Ella. He was certain that they were the same person. He just had to prove it.

He decided that the next day, he himself would go to the bakery. He was sure it was Eponine. He just needed to know that he was no longer alone. His life had been solitary and horrible since the attempted Revolution. This was his chance to find some sort of inner peace. He had to see her. He had to see Eponine. And he was going to. He tried, once again, to sleep. In just a few short hours, he would see Eponine.


	4. Black, the Night That Ends At Last

**A/N: **_Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Life has a nasty habit of getting in the way, and I apologise. Thank you all for your lovely reviews, and for all of you that have favourited the story. I never honestly thought that anyone would even read it! I love you guys!_

**Chapter Three: Black, the Night that Ends At Last**

Enjolras awoke that morning with a newfound sense of purpose and conviction. Just a few more hours and he would see Eponine. He would no longer be alone. He moved more quickly than he normally would through his mundane morning tasks in setting up the tavern. Miss Turner noticed the sudden change in his mood.

"Morning, Sunshine," she said as she entered the tavern. Enjolras had already completed setting up, and was having coffee as he waited to open the tavern.

"Good morning," he replied, offering her the coffee pot.

Miss Turner observed him as she took the coffee pot from him. She noticed he seemed happier, more alive, even, than he had for the almost month that he had lived there. There was a slight spring in his step, and she could see that he had some kind of purpose behind his eyes.

"What's gotten you so happy?" she asked him, curious about his newfound happiness.

"Nothing in particular," Enjolras replied, "just a new day, new opportunities to make good things happen."

"Oh yeah? What kind of good things?"

Enjolras was careful not to let on what he had planned. How he would go to Eponine, and they would no longer be alone.

"Nothing specific. Just trying to find joy in the everyday, I think".

"Ok then, Mister Joy-In-Everyday, I need you to go down to the bakery. The family in room one have a thing for bread, especially throwing it out the window. You might be able to find some of the joy in everyday in Miss Ella".

'Little you know,' thought Enjolras as he headed off to the bakery.

* * *

><p>Eponine was nearly finished baking the fifth batch of bread for that day. She knew that soon Enjolras would send Timmy the Street Urchin to buy the bread for the tavern. Her expression softened as she thought of the young boy, so like her brother. She had come to enjoy Timmy's company. He would often come back to visit her after he had taken the bread to Enjolras. Timmy didn't have parents, and neither did Eponine. They looked out for each other, with an unspoken agreement, a kind of kindred spirits. She watched the door, knowing that Timmy would be entering the bakery soon, and was shocked to see a young man with dark blonde hair coming towards the bakery.<p>

"Enjolras!" she said, to herself, shocked.

She ran to the back of the bakery, needing to regain her composure. This could not be happening. She had resolved to not see him again and now he was seeking her out! After taking three deep breaths, Eponine stepped back out to the front shop area of the bakery, and found herself face to face with Enjolras.

"Good morning, Monsieur Enjolras. I have not seen you in a long time. Were you sick?" She tried to make herself sound convincing. She knew that he had not returned to the bakery in so long as he could not be confronted with the ghosts of his past.

"Eponine," he replied, "I wish I had known earlier."

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I don't know who Eponine is. I told you, my name is Elizabeth Jane Smith." Eponine tried to keep her composure. She had to keep her composure, and keep the mask that she had perfected over the past five years, to create this life that she was finally proud of.

"But, that is an English name. You are French, you know of the Revolution, and the Barricades at which I lead the charge!" Enjolras found himself becoming quickly frustrated with the girl's denial.

"I never once said that I knew of your Barricades, Monsieur." Memories came pouring into Eponine's mind, and she did not know how much longer she would be able to continue the conversation in this manner. "Please just take your bread," she said, as her eyes began brimming with tears.

"Eponine," Enjolras said, grabbing Eponine's hand, and staring into her eyes so deeply that Eponine believed he could see into her soul. "I know it's you."

Eponine broke down, as Enjolras continued.

"I know the loss you suffered in losing your brother that day, as I lost many of mine. If anyone understands your situation, it is I. Eponine, I wish I had realised when I saw you on my first day in London. We have both run from something so terrible, and now is our chance to start anew."

Eponine hesitated before pulling her hand away from his.

"You need to leave, Monsieur. Please. Here is your bread. Please. Leave." And with that, Eponine retreated to the back of the bakery.

* * *

><p>Enjolras could not comprehend what had happened. Elation, yes, that was there, elation at the fact that he had finally found someone who would understand. Confusion, at how Eponine had reacted, that was there too. Irony, at the fact that he grew upset with the girl for running away to try to forget, when he had done the same thing. But then there was something else, an almost sadness. Whilst he had finally found understanding, and yet, he felt more alone than he had before. He had hoped that Eponine would react differently, more positively.<p>

He made his way back to the tavern slowly, and in an obviously worse frame of mind than he had been that morning.

* * *

><p>Eponine could not comprehend what had happened. He could not know that she was Eponine. It was not supposed to be that she was Eponine, and that he was Enjolras, and that they were supposed to have both died that night at the Barricades. And how dare he become upset with her for denying who she was! He may not have changed his name, but he had run from the Barricades to a new life, just as she had. He was just as guilty as she.<p>

Realising that she was alone, Eponine let the emotion consume her, and, finally, she cried for those she had lost; Gavroche, Marius, and most of all, herself.


	5. Look Down

_A/N: I apologise_ _for how insanely long it has taken me to get this chapter done, and for how short it is. Life has been hectic with work, family and Summer School. Please forgive me  
><em>

**Chapter Four: Look Down**

The nights were growing colder, and seemingly longer for Eponine. She had told Mr. Winters that she had been ill, a seemingly easy lie when she had slept very few hours. She completed her duties around the bakery almost robotically, working out of habit, and without the passion that she had once had. She had worked so hard to build this new life for herself, and in a few moments, someone who was trying to create a new life of his own had threatened it all.

She had been sleeping less and less, feeling ecstatic when she got more than an hour a night and, possibly worst of all, she had not seen Enjolras since the day when the truth was revealed.

She didn't want to see him, that wasn't it. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach that told her she needed to see him. Logically, it was the wrong thing to do. He had the power to ruin everything she had worked so hard for for five year, he could undo that with a few choice words in the town, but logic was only barely prevailing at this point. The little voice in the back of her head was gradually growing louder and louder, telling her she needed to see him. For the first time in her life, Eponine was glad she had inherited a trait from her father; his stubbornness. She was not going to let a common experience force her to see Enjolras. She was not going to be that weak little girl, dependent on a man to make her feel better. She had gotten through worse, and she would get through this, alone. Being alone was what she knew, and it was what she would have to continue to know.

After that one morning of intense joy, Enjolras had regressed to the melancholy life he had begun in London. He continued his duties in the tavern, sending Timmy to the bakery, so he would not need to see Eponine again. He thought that was best.

Enjolras would joke with the patrons at the tavern, talking with the men that came in every afternoon about subjects that he was once passionate about, but he didn't feel anything. He was hollow, void of emotions, except for one little spark in the emptiness. Eponine. She was his hope. She was what was keeping him in this town, the hope that perhaps, one day she would be ready to see him together, that one day they may be able to sit and talk about that night at the Barricades. To remember those friends that they lost, and laugh at the memories they shared, and maybe, just possibly, they could find friendship and comfort in each other.

Enjolras knew he would have to wait, though, and so he did. He kept his head down, and continued his work. Waiting for the comfort he had hoped for for so long, that was snatched from him before he could find it.


End file.
